


A Blessing in Disguise

by lady_mab



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, saveintheflesh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren rushes to the bungalow after events with Freddie, not really knowing why or what he plans on doing once he gets there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blessing in Disguise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musicalsarelife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalsarelife/gifts).



> The curse ruled from the underground down by the shore  
> And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before  
> Tell me now of the very soul, look alike, look alike  
> Do you know this stranglehold covering their eyes?

The bungalow was quiet, Amy having retreated to her room with complaints of a headache, and the rest of the undead having returned to their own homes. Simon knew that Amy had wanted him to dote on her, as she fluttered about the kitchen for some time in a way that only pretended to dismiss his voiced concern. But he was tired. He didn’t want to cater to her whims. 

So he wished her a good night and remained in the sitting room, perched on the edge of his chair, taking one steadying breath after another. 

The recent meeting hung heavy on his mind, but not nearly as much as his argument with Kieren had. The argument would have hung heavy on his heart if he thought it mattered anymore. It hadn’t mattered in five years -- why start now. 

_I’ve got nothing to say to people like you. I was wrong._

He hadn’t even stopped to look at Kieren’s expression, fully aware of his choice in words. He heard them often enough from the living. It didn’t feel particularly good to use them against another Undead, but he had a hard time counting the Walker boy among their numbers. 

Not with the way he kept himself covered up in mousse and spouting back the ignorant lines from the PDS brochures, and desperately grasping to the idea that _if I pretend to be normal, everyone else can forget what I’ve become._

Amy had told him everything about what happened with Kieren Walker and Rick Macy -- she had received letters and postcards from the Roarton boy she couldn’t stop talking about during their time together. So it wasn’t that Kieren simply _didn’t know_ how cruel the living could be. He had seen it first hand, experienced the soul shattering pain of watching the protective layer of ignorance come crashing down to your feet. 

Simon had learned. He learned it quickly, the night his dad threw him out of the house -- the first night he was back from the treatment center. 

And then there was Kieren, the beautiful boy who had managed to enrapture him despite all the frustrating ideologies that the Give Back Program wanted him to have. Despite that _I told you not to make me a part of it and you went ahead and used me._

News flash, Kieren Walker: Everyone is going to use you -- living or dead. You need to learn how to make sure that they don’t. 

Simon started to move again, slowly at first, dragging his hands down his face and placing them firmly upon his knees. He pushed himself up, taking the green bucket and the washcloth from where they sat on the low table. The water sloshed about, murky and a dim sort of brown from all of the mousse. 

Zoe had been eager enough. His words struck a particular sort of chord in her, he could tell. (After all those years spent alive, stumbling over his own thoughts and phrases, unable to form an argument or a simple _no, thank you_ , he found himself suddenly an orator. They flocked to him, sat at his feet, and clung to his words. And it felt good, that sort of attention. It meant that he could spread the word of the Undead Prophet and that people would listen, would learn that -- what was it that he had said? _How long are you going to be in a cage? What’s stopping you becoming the people you are? Instead of copies of what you used to be -- of what they tell us you have to be?_ ) 

(And his mind went right back to Kieren and the fact that he tried so hard to be _exactly_ that.) 

A fist knocked against the door, desperate and frantic. Three short raps with barely any force behind them.

Simon hesitated, turning to look at Amy’s bedroom door down the hall. It remained closed, and he couldn’t hear any motion behind it. So it was up to him, then. 

He crossed to the door in two strides, yanking it open without even bothering to check who was on the other side. If he had, he might have simply left the door closed. 

Kieren’s head jerked up as the hinges squeaked, and there was a brief moment when their eyes met before he shoved his way inside. His shoulder knocked against Simon’s forcing him to whirl around and face him. 

The words to another argument were fresh on his tongue -- _what are you doing how could you think to show your face here I thought I told you I wanted nothing to do with you_ \-- but then he looked, really looked, and the words died in his throat. 

Kieren was gasping for breath, hands fidgeting nervously at his side. One contact was missing and his mousse was smeared, revealing a grey swatch of skin beneath. 

“What’s the matter? What happened?” Simon received nothing but a trembling gulp of air in response. “Kieren--?” 

He opened his mouth to say something, only to think better of it and shake his head. Their eyes met once again, just a fraction of a second -- the Undead pinprick matched against the deep brown that he had become so used to seeing on the boy -- before Kieren was kissing him. 

Simon stumbled back a pace, hands flying up in a moment of confusion. But then they found purchase on Kieren, wrapping around the curve of his jaw and the bird-like bones beneath, gripping with harder than necessary as he was jolted back another step from the force. 

The tips of Simon’s fingers pressed against the back of Kieren’s head, steadying himself in the ocean of unspoken emotions, and he finally found the chance he needed to kiss him back. Seconds passed before they reached a rhythm, Kieren’s fingers twisting around the loose ends of his sweater, pulling him in closer and keeping him there. 

Just as quickly as it had happened, Kieren pulled back with a mighty gasp for air -- eyes squeezed shut and leaning forward until their foreheads rested together. 

Simon watched him through lowered lashes, the twist of frustration and anguish over his narrow face. He traced the tips of his fingers over the bare skin. All of the fight simply dropped out of him. “What--?” 

“I’m sorry,” Kieren muttered, shifting but not pulling away. “For before. I’m sorry. I knew and yet--” 

“Shhh... It’s okay.” He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his forehead. “Don’t feel like you need to explain yourself.” 

Kieren’s head jerked back and forth, eyes still screwed tightly shut. “I feel like such an idiot. I could only stand there and I--” He dropped his head, leaning against Simon’s chest. His fingers had not yet relinquished their grip on his jacket. 

With gentle, guiding hands, Simon loosened his grip and helped him over to the couch. He could hear movement from the other side of the bungalow, and only just managed to remove his hands from Kieren’s grip before Amy bustled out of her room. 

Her eyes went wide, landing first on him and then moving immediately to Kieren. She released a distraught cry and hurried to his side. “Kieren Walker! Whatever happened to you?!” 

He was practically putty in her hands, every one of his limbs hanging motionless as she threw her arms around him for a fierce hug. His gaze was distant, unfocused -- angled somewhere off over her shoulder. 

“Has Mimon been picking on you again?” She stroked his hair away from his forehead. 

_Mimon?_ he mouthed as her pinprick eyes turned up to him in accusation. “What have you been saying to my BDFF?” 

For a moment, something very akin to guilt welled up in the pit of his stomach. It reminded him more of the queasy sensation that happened after even the slightest bit of food entered his system. He thought of the words that he had snapped at the GP earlier that day, and swallowed them down. “Nothing. He just--” Simon gestured, weakly, at where the boy sat on the couch. “Haven’t been able to get a word out of him.” 

(Didn’t need mentioning that he hadn’t tried very hard, far more intent on keeping the mouth pressed against his own than on getting an explanation out.)

“Freddie went rabid,” Kieren said, voice nothing more than a whisper. 

Amy and Simon stilled, her hand still running back over his hair. 

“Forgot to take his injection, I don’t know. Had Haley trapped in his garage, though it didn’t look like he was deliberately attacking her.” His words pulled from his mouth like lines in a play. Simon shivered, something in his barely-functioning nerve-endings responding enough for that human reaction. “I got there just as Gary forced the door open. He wanted to-- He almost--...” 

Simon lowered himself onto Kieren’s other side, eyes glued his face in hopes of sensing any sort of flicker of emotion. He reached for one of Kieren’s hands, where they sat limp in his lap -- and he was rewarded with the slightest flash in the mismatched eyes and the flutter of eyelashes over high cheekbones (this boy was beautiful, had he just not noticed this before, or was he only suddenly more aware?). 

If Amy noticed the change, she didn’t say anything. “And Freddie? How is he?” 

“Not dead.” It was said with the sort of finality that meant that it had certainly been up for debate for a moment. “Gaz wanted to shoot him, afraid that... That...” His fingers tightened against Simon’s, so hard that they would have turned white if there had been any blood pumping through them.

He returned the pressure, though he ignored Amy’s curious glance at him over the top of Kieren’s head. “That what?” he prompted, using the same voice he always used at the small Undead of Roarton meetings. The one that always got a response, no matter how unwilling the speaker. 

Kieren took a shuddering breath, his spine finally allowing him to slump to the side. To Amy’s surprise, he leaned into Simon’s chest, slipping out of her grip and into his. “That he had gone rabid, full on -- not going to go back on his Neurotriptyline. But I talked him down, both of them. Got Freddie his shot, convinced Gaz not to put--” He choked, tried again. “Put him down.” 

_Put him down_ , like a rabid dog. Simon’s grip tightened, and his arm curled closer around around Kieren’s back. “Are you going to be alright?” 

He fell silent, clearly hesitating. “I think so.” 

“Oh my little Kieren,” Amy cooed, taking Kieren from Simon’s grip and pulling him into her embrace. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I’ll be okay,” he said, more of an attempt to convince himself than the others. “I’m sorry. Can you--... I should go. My parents are probably worried.” 

“I’ll take you,” Simon said, pushing himself to his feet. “Amy, you should get back to bed.” 

Kieren’s head jerked up, and the mismatched eyes turned up to her. “You’re not feeling well?” 

She tutted, pinching his cheek and tossing a teasing glance up at Simon. “I’m fine, dum-dums. But I will, only because you asked so nicely.” Amy helped Kieren to his feet, then patted Simon’s cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, won’t I Kieren?” 

“What’s tomorrow...?” 

“Service,” she said with a wink, and then placed a chaste kiss on either of their cheeks before heading off to bed. 

It took a long moment before Simon looked down and saw that he was still holding Kieren’s hand. He followed the line of his arm, up to his shoulder, then to his face -- eyes trained on Amy’s door. 

“What did she mean by service?” 

Simon found himself rushing to reply, and even more strangely, embarrassed by the thought. “Don’t worry about it. That’s just what she likes to call our meetings.” 

A small frown twitched on the corners of Kieren’s mouth, and Simon reached out to press the tips of two fingers two his jaw. He turned Kieren to face him, and leaned in for a kiss. (Now that he started, he found that he didn’t want to stop -- and it had nothing to do with every other reasoning he held so dear.) 

This was accepted with far more modesty than the first was given, and that in itself was endearing. 

“Let me walk you home,” he murmured, lips brushing over Kieren’s. 

He didn’t reply at first, though his eyelashes ghosted over Simon’s cheeks at this proximity. He wished that he could feel it, better than the distant sensation that he had to focus on. “I’ll be fine on my own.” Kieren pulled back, movements jerky, and kept his head down. “I’m sorry, again.” 

Simon caught onto his hand before he could fully pull away. “Don’t ever be.” He received a mismatched stare and a small quirk of a smile in response, and then Kieren was gone, heading for the front door and stepping back out into the night. 

He remained rooted there, even after the front door closed and the sound of footsteps faded up the walkway. His hand lifted to his mouth, the barest trace of feeling in the tips of his fingers. Nerve endings reconnecting. 

His hand dropped to his chest, where beneath everything, he could imagine a heart beating frantically. An old memory, carried over even after death. One he never expected to miss until now.


End file.
